


Through The Fire

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abused Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Burns, Caring Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Good Friend, Drabble, Fight or Flight, Fire, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lots of fucking fire, M/M, Married Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Mentioned Deceit Sanders, Mentioned Dr. Emile Picani, Mentioned Original Characters - Freeform, Mentioned Sleep | Remy Sanders, Panic Attacks, Parent Logic | Logan Sanders, Parent Morality | Patton Sanders, Past Child Abuse, People are gonna die, References to Depression, Trans Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, binders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:25:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Virgil runs down the street as flames lick at his heels, the concrete scorching him. He's thankful when his friend from school (and his parents) pull up, even if he's bitter to them.





	Through The Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DavidtheTraveler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DavidtheTraveler/gifts).



Virgil flits his eyes open, coughing harshly as he leans up. He can’t help but cough harder. His throat aches, nose stuffy, burning harshly in a way that he can only describe as the morning after a fire. He coughs again, glancing around the room as he rolls to the floor, heaving. His head aches as he glances around, worries written on his face. It was so fucking  _ stuffy, _ the world seemingly crowded. He heaves yet again, almost vomiting as he looks up. Tears press a burning sensation to his eyes, ones that he’s not exactly used to. He hates it. 

 

The teenager stands, tripping over himself as he glances at the smoke. He coughs even harsher, ignoring the pain in his lungs as he trips his way to his spider’s cage. He usually would never touch the spider unless she were to crawl onto him, but he instead scoops her up. She doesn’t seem to have any sort of objections, Bitsy willingly crawling up his arms as his body shakes with the force of the damn coughs that don’t seem to be letting up any time soon, nor the smoke that billowed above the two. 

 

“Dee,” Virgil yelps out, heaving a wheeze. The only thing that sounds back is the raging crackle of flames. Virgil knew he shouldn’t have been so collected, but his brain was running on the urge to choose flight over fight, though flight  _ clearly _ had the lead here. He’s thankful he fell asleep in his jacket, though not so much that he had forgotten to take off his binder. It prodded at his lungs, aching and stabbing pains he’s far too used to at this point. 

 

The last thing Virgil remembered before falling asleep was getting home from school. Damien and their mothers were going to be out of town for the long weekend. They were going to a concert, one that would knowingly press at his anxiety without remorse. He hadn’t even meant to fall asleep. Instead, he had laid down, intent on scrolling through Tumblr. Despite that, sleep had taken over his mind, passing out. 

 

“Ma? Mama?” He slips through the home, mind panicking. He walks past the flames. A scream leaves him as he steps on the charred remains of what was knowingly his desk. He runs. He runs with the knowledge that he needs to Hell out or he’ll die. His lungs protest to the movements and he chokes down a sob. The instant he’s outside of the home, he vomits, though that doesn’t help. The only thing he finds is fire.  _ Everything _ is covered with fire. He can’t find a singular thing that  _ isn’t _ lit with yellow and orange. 

 

He doesn’t know where to go. He feels like a spider, unable to tell where to go, where not to go, what to do. He glances up and down, desperate for a solution. He turns left, away from his home. More tears burn at his eyes, slipping down. The heat doesn’t help, though, burning his knowingly blistered feet. The fifteen-year-old keeps himself grounded by the harsh slaps of his feet on the ground and his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Both sounds are just barely above the crackle and the roar. His coughing from the mix of asthma, smoke, and the binder only intensifies as he wheezes. Did he have his phone? Had he grabbed it? The only thing he could remember grabbing was Bitsy before she booked it. 

 

Virgil doesn’t hear it until it’s right up on him, the sounds of a car following behind him. The person stops, window rolled down as a voice asks, “Kiddo, hey, kiddo--” 

 

Virgil turns suddenly taken up by the voice. He honestly thinks that he’s hallucinating from all the smoke going to his head and the lack of air he’s getting. He can feel the tears splatting down his cheeks as he turns towards the car. A man sat in the front seat, easily realized as one of the men down the street, the father of Roman King, or one of the two. If Virgil’s correct, it’s Patton, the one that is definitely more fatherly than the other, Logan. A head pops from the side, easily noticed as Roman. 

 

“Holy  _ shit,” _ comes from the boy. Virgil can just barely hear it, though he points his index finger at them, turning starkly in a  _ hold-up _ motion as he vomits. He’s pretty sure he can’t vomit much more. Roman is suddenly beside him and he’s not exactly sure when the other got there. He tentatively rubs his back, squatted beside the other. “Come on, Virge,” he mumbles once the other finally falls into nothing more than painful dry heaving. Virgil doesn’t even fight him as he’s lead to the car. 

 

He slips in and leans against the other, pulling away from the hoodie. It’s too hot and that’ll only make him even more panicked than beforehand and he’s sure Roman knows. Sure, the two weren’t close, but Roman knew his cousin, Remy, as well as Damien. Roman softly asks, “How long have you been running? And how long have you been in your binder? You can’t be doing well if you’ve run from your house all the way to here.” 

 

“How far away am I,” Virgil asks, placing Bitsy on his shoulder, He ignores the worry that seems to prod from Patton about the tarantula, but it could be so much worse, so it’s far from the  _ worst, _ per se. He has blisters on his feet, on his ankles and probably up to every bit of his bare legs. He just had on what is basically booty shorts and a thin tank top. It was his go-to outfit when he got home, slipping out of the jeans and his long-sleeved shirt. He looks at his hands, cringing as he peers at the blisters. How long  _ had _ he been running? 

 

Instead of answering him, Roman cringes. He must have been pretty far, then. Virgil was mostly thin and his body lithe. He was made for running, his dexterity much higher than anyone he had ever met. He could run a mile in five minutes thanks to the horrid way he’d first been raised. 

 

“Where are Damien and Remy? And your mothers?” Patton is the one to ask. 

 

Virgil can only collect that Remy had been over a few times before. He knew Damien had, too, but he wasn’t exactly sure what all Damien had told. He wasn’t a  _ kiss and tell _ type of guy, keeping his life almost as secretive as Virgil did. “I’m not sure about Remy,” he mumbles, “but Damien and my moms were out for a concert. They weren’t supposed to be home until Wednesday.” He cringes as he reaches around, cringe turning into a grimace. “Hey, Princey, will you please undo the back of my binder?” 

 

The mentioned boys’ face flushes bright red, brows furrowed as Virgil places Bitsy on his lap that’s knowingly burnt. He hoists the back of his shirt up, not caring if anyone sees. So  _ what _ if someone knows he had on a binder or that he has a few plops of fat on his chest? He knows he can trust the red-headed asshole, even if the two didn’t get off on exactly the right foot in the beginning. After Virgil had worked him through a panic attack before the school’s first big,  _ official _ musical, the two had grown close, even if Virgil was on both lighting and an understudy when needed for all of the cast.  _ [He never was. He found that the musical nerds truly were a musical nerd. Roman had taken his way through a place while having the flu at one point, which had pissed Virgil off because he ended up with it, too, his weak immune system damned.] _

 

“Do you have your phone on you?” 

 

Virgil turns towards the one that is knowingly Logan, the logical of the family, keeping their heads from going too far into the clouds. He was also Virgil’s science teacher and often took on shifts for ISAP, too. The youngest in the car simply shrugs, letting out a painful, bone-rattling cough as soon as his binder is released. He’s honestly surprised he didn’t burp, as that seemed to be an incredibly common response to his lungs getting released from the binder’s grasp. He can only conclude, “Dunno. If I have it, s’probably dead.” 

 

Roman runs his hands through the pockets of Virgil’s hoodie. Virgil doesn’t chide him. He hurts too much to even fight against the other, leaning against him with his eyes slipped up, thankful for the air blowing on him and watching the fire slip away behind the tinted windows. “A-ha! You do have it, J Delightful!” He flicks it on, smirking. “Fully charged, too! No signal, though.” 

 

Virgil just shrugs halfheartedly, coiling into Roman’s side. He feels so shitty that he doesn’t even have enough energy to correct himself and pull away from the boy currently swiping through his phone. All he had is his Tumblr, but the app is locked with a passcode, so he isn’t worried. The worst he’ll find is the incredibly explicit details of his life as well as lots of school drama in his texts with Damien and Remy. Thinking about the details, Virgil suddenly sits up, face flushing red. 

 

“I know that there’s not exactly a place to stop at this very moment--” 

 

“There really isn’t,” Patton mumbles glumly from behind the wheel. 

 

Virgil silently ignores it.  _ “But, _ when we  _ can stop, _ does… Does anyone have any pads?” He knows his cheeks are as red as a tomato and that he looks like he had run a marathon  _ [he practically had], _ but his menstrual would be god damned if it weren’t present as could be on the poor boy. 

 

Logan nods, opening the glove box before passing a couple of pads back. Virgil had never been so thankful for the quiet he received after that, face still flushed and eyes focused on his phone. Roman puts Virgil’s phone back in his jacket pocket after reporting that he had a text from Remy from a few hours ago where the other said that he was riding with Damien and his moms to the concert with Emile and a few of their friends. At least Virgil knew they were safe. He coils around Roman without another protest, ignoring his own tears that blur his vision. 

 

“You’re really burnt,” Roman comments softly, running a hand through the shorter’s hair. “Are you alright?” 

 

Virgil shrugs softly. “I mean, I woke up with my house burning from the inside out and then ran down the street while crying and inhaling smoke the entire time without even knowing if I was running into or out of said fire. At the moment, I’m a little frazzled and full of adrenaline, fight or flight instincts, and horrid anxiety. So, I think that I’ll just end up feeling it later.” 

 

Roman pauses, looking horrified at the other. His brows are somewhat knit, eyes wide in what easily could have been accepted as an offended look. If Virgil didn’t know him any better, he would have concluded it was offense, but it was so clearly a look of horror that he pauses. Both adults seem tense, too, Logan glancing back at the youngest in the car. 

 

“It could be worse,” Virgil shrugs. 

 

Roman looks even more aghast.  _ “Could be worse,” _ he repeats. “You just almost  _ died!” _

 

He shrugs once again, nonchalant. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving a wave of numbing anxiety that lowered his senses, mixing with depression that morphs his views even more. “My biological mother was insane and had tried to kill me multiple times before eventually setting our house on fire three times to collect both insurance policies and once just to kill me. I’ve been in the hospital more times because of her than anything else. Trust me,  _ it could be worse.” _ He glances out the window. “This is fine.” 

 

“Oh, kiddo,” he hears from Patton, who sounds teary-eyed. 

 

Virgil isn’t looking at Patton, though. He’s looking at Roman, whose eyes are wide and now full of both horror  _ and _ worry. Virgil hates how easily he can identify the emotions coming from the other. His mother had been the cause for it, how he so easily identified people and how bad his anxiety had gotten. His instincts had been shattered and it all reminds him too much of his homicidal mother cackling from the streets, pressing a bottle of alcohol to her lips as Virgil stumbled out of the house the same way he just had. He wipes his face and chooses to lean against the door, instead. His eyes shut and he curls into the smallest ball he can make himself. He easily falls asleep, memories stewing in his mind. 

 

Roman frowns as he glances at the boy currently curled up and asleep beside him. The spider on him seems to curl up like a cat on his shoulder, some behavior that he’s  _ pretty sure _ is weird for any kind of spider. He glances to Patton, who seems focused on getting out of there. THings were far from okay and the fire still raging on outside supported that.

**Author's Note:**

> I won't lie, I feel like the detail about Virgil's biological mother was excessive and cliche, but whatever. I wrote most of this last night so the flow is off near the end. At least it's content. I think I'll write a second and third chapter, tho, if I get around to having the motivation
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